The Greatest Trick
by The Cynical Prince
Summary: Whatever power Harry Potter was supposed to have over Voldemort nobody ever found out. He died at the second battle of Hogwarts, and the world fell to ruin. Ginny is given a second chance from the most unlikely person, with only one mission, to pull the wool over the eyes over the most powerful dark wizard of all time, and prepare Harry to win a war yet to happen.
1. Chapter 1

Author's Note 1: I own nothing, this is a work of fan fiction. The Greatest Trick is a time trave fix-it that attempts to avoid bashing. Enjoy!

Additional: This story was re-uploaded due to issues with the doc manager system and things appearing incorrectly on my end.

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**December 3rd, 2001**

Everything was ash.

Ginny limped into what remained of the Burrow, stepping over the debris and detritus that now filled her childhood home and dug into the liquor cabinet, favoring her right leg. Bottle in hand she sank to the ground.

Ginny wiped her brow, clenched her teeth, and poured the whiskey onto the gash in her leg. With a hiss, she reached a trembling hand into the cabinet for a clean cloth to wrap the wound. Her wand was lost to her, using magic potent enough to heal a wound would require she find a new one. Until then, she would be stuck with improvised means of healing.

With the bandage tied, Ginny slumped against the cabinet. Most of the kitchen was in ruins. Most of the house was in ruins. Come to think of it, nearly everything everywhere was in ruins. Her family was dead, all of them, including her not quite husband Harry Potter.

Harry had been killed nearly four years previously at the pitched battle on the grounds of Hogwarts, where victory had been snatched from them. Voldemort had taken over magical Britain, and his genocide now swept across Europe.

Still, those who opposed Voldemort fought on.

Every time they had moved against Voldemort, they had been met with overwhelming resistance, and the Order of the Phoenix had been systematically eliminated, until only a handful of resistance fighters remained.

They had believed it to be the work of a spy, Harry believed it to be Snape, but Severus Snape had also been killed in the Battle of Hogwarts. Ginny believed the spy to be one of their contacts, perhaps Mundungus Fletcher, but he, too, had been killed. Ginny never had figured out who it was that leaked each and every one of their plans to Voldemort. Even after the deaths of their suspects, their raids continued to be found out and countered.

Today had been a last ditch effort to maybe win, to rise from the ashes of defeat, but the prophecy held true. Without Harry it was like they never had a chance against Voldemort.

Hermione and her brother Percy were now dead in the burned out ruin of Big Ben. Ginny had escaped, had apparated to the ruins of the Burrow, where she now sat, alone, with her brother's wand (that barely worked for her), and a broken leg.

Even with the element of surprise, and their most powerful magic at their disposal, it hadn't even been close. Voldemort's power was too great, and he had acted quickly and with no mercy. Percy had died instantly, and Ginny's wand had been destroyed trying to protect Hermione. She grabbed Percy's wand, she ran, and now she licked her wounds.

Not that she would make another attempt. She couldn't. She was spent, defeated, broken. There wasn't anything, anyone, left to fight for.

Ginny raised the bottle of whiskey to her lips and downed the quarter that remained. It burned, but it was distracting.

She reached into the cabinet for another bottle, she didn't care much what was in it. Ginny felt the bitter tears fall down her cheeks, and let her misery consume her.

* * *

**Six Months Later**

Peter Pettigrew had been working closely with a secret division of Unspeakables since Hogwarts had been captured and the students killed. A bold undertaking, and one not at all sanctioned by the Dark Lord. A project originally championed by James Potter and Sirius Black, but ultimately left unfinished and set aside as a failure. However, when Voldemort rose from the dead and destroyed the wizarding world, it was the last glimmer of hope, to perhaps make possible the impossible.

It was a chance at redemption that Peter Pettigrew had held at bay in the back of his mind since that fateful October night in 1981. Once he had allowed his fear to control him, once he had betrayed his friends, he had thrown himself into the cause of Lord Voldemort to distract from the guilt - and the self-loathing.

The project folder, which was old and worn with use, was titled "The Greatest Trick." It was the groundwork for a weapon to defeat Voldemort, a one time use trick to give the wizarding world a fighting chance. The research had gone on for nearly six years, and had required a great deal of technical knowledge in both Arithmancy and Runelore. Peter had never been as bright or clever as his former friends, but he knew enough to continue their work. Learning the Dark Arts had its own advantages, after all. The Unspeakables didn't trust him, but he had the advantage of knowing how his former friends thought. Peter was too valuable to replace.

It was a modified version of a Time-Turner that James and Sirius had tried to create, once upon a time. And Peter Pettigrew had completed it.

He could send one person back in time. Just one. The caveat, of course, was that James and Sirius actually believed the tripe that Albus Dumbledore spouted off about love being the most powerful magic. And according to their research, and his own, he would not be able to return himself.

Only someone who was truly in love could go back in time. Peter had never truly been in love with anyone. Few Death Eaters ever truly loved anyone.

But Peter was a Marauder before he was a Death Eater, and despite his many betrayals and his overwhelming cowardice, he was also a Gryffindor. The Greatest Trick, of course, was that Peter Pettigrew would be the instrument of the Dark Lord's demise.

All he had to do was give the device to the last living pureblood witch in Britain who was not on Voldemort's side. He knew where she was, and she was left alone in her misery because she was not a threat.

The Unspeakables had their own plans, of course. They thought it best to send one of their own back, and to forewarn the necessary parties. Changing the course of history was a fool's errand, of course. But preparing Harry Potter to fight? That could work. Peter thought it best to send someone back that could directly look out for Harry Potter. Someone who could be sure that Harry would be ready to change the prophecy in favor of humanity. There was no room for error.

That night, he grasped the small locket that would pull Ginny Weasley to the past, and killed the Unspeakables as they slept. If it didn't work, it would be best to cover his tracks and return to the Dark Lord's side posthaste, even if it was only to beg for a quick death.

He disappeared with the telltale crack of apparition, and popped back into existence in an alley beside a ramshackle muggle pub.

He felt the alarm trigger as soon as he appeared. He had minutes, at best, before the Death Eaters were upon them. No time to panic. Peter opened the door.

Within, the stench of despair and cheap ale hit his senses. He wrinkled his nose in disgust strode to the bar. The patrons were all lost in their sorrow and drink, and the barman was busying himself putting clean glasses on a shelf.

"A guiness, please," Peter said as he sat beside a woman with filthy red hair.

Ginny Weasley did not look up from her whiskey. She did not react to his voice, one that should be familiar and hated. He glanced at her and doubted his plan would succeed. Ginny Weasley was haggard, filthy, and somewhere quite far past drunk.

The beer was placed before him.

"I have a proposition for you, Weasley," Peter said.

She looked at him with glassy eyes. "No," she said. He was impressed she managed speech at all.

"You mistake my candor as a request. You will be doing this, Miss Weasley," Peter said.

"I won't."

Peter sighed, pinched the bridge of his nose. "When was the last time you were sober?"

"December," Ginny said.

"It's May," Peter said.

"So it is."

"You spend seven hours a day in this bar, Weasley. Don't you think you should be doing something more productive?"

"Being drunk is very productive. I don't cry when I'm drunk."

"What if there was a way for you to avoid crying and drinking?" Peter asked.

"I'm too much of a coward to kill myself. Believe me. I've already tried," Ginny said.

"I'm going to give you a necklace, Weasley. But you need to memorize a few things before then. June 6th, 1994. I escape and help the Dark Lord return to the land of the living. You must tell me something before then. Tell me that I pull off the Greatest Trick. Do you understand?"

Ginny looked at him. "You are the reason everyone is dead. I hate you."

Peter hated himself, too. "Do you understand?" He asked again.

"June 6th. Ninety-four. Greatest Trick. You got it," Ginny slurred. "Now go away."

"I'm afraid you're the one who will be going. This will be disorienting, but you are the only hope we have. Best of luck, Weasley. And know that I am truly sorry for everything I've done. I was then, too," Peter said. And then he slipped a necklace around Ginny's neck and twisted the small mechanism on the front.

All around him, the pops of the Death Eaters signaled his own end. To them, of course, Peter Pettigrew was sitting alone at the bar enjoying one last drink.

* * *

**September 1, 1991**

Ginny Weasley stumbled, completely off balance, and crashed into someone who was very much taller than she was. She blinked stupidly and found herself flat on her back in a place that was very much not a bar.

"Ginny dear are you okay? This is certainly not the place to be tripping over your own feet."

Ginny knew that voice. She knew it, but it couldn't be. It wasn't possible. The woman that voice belonged to was long dead. She sat up and took the hand of her mother, who was giving her a look somewhere between concern and annoyance. Unable to find her voice, Ginny nodded and viciously fought against the tears that threatened to spill. She looked around.

Two trains were stopped. Muggles went this way and that going about their business on platforms nine and ten. Percy, Fred, George, and Ron were all there. She wanted to whoop for happiness. She wanted to cry. She wanted to run away because didn't know what was going on.

For an alcohol induced fever dream, this one was actually quite nice. Usually she had restless nightmares. Shame it would end.

Best to enjoy it while it lasted.

In short order, Percy, Fred and George went through the barrier to platform 9 ¾.

This moment was familiar, Ginny realized. Because… because…

"Excuse me," Harry Potter said as he approached them. Ginny thought she might die. Her breath certainly caught in her throat. There he was. Alive. Her family. Her lover. All of them. What was happening?

"Could you tell me how to… to…" Harry trailed off.

"How to get on to the platform?" Molly asked. "Not to worry dear, it's Ron's first time to Hogwarts as well."

Ginny stopped listening. She couldn't do this. She didn't even know what was happening. She needed a stiff drink. Reaching into her pockets for her wand, she found that she had no wand, nor any pockets that would be deep enough to hold a wand. Bugger.

Ginny closed her eyes and took several deep, steadying breaths.

"What you do is just walk straight at the barrier between platform 9 and platform 10. Best do it at a bit of a run if you're nervous. Go on now, before Ron."

Ginny trembled, watching her mother explain to Harry how to get to the Hogwarts Express. She wanted to hug him, she needed to touch him, to make sure he was real. She had been with him for nearly three years before he was brutally taken away from her in the thick of battle.

Harry nodded, and Ginny tried to say something, anything to him, but her voice had left her.

And then he was gone, and she was being ushered through the barrier with her brother.

She was going to hyperventilate. This was too real to be some sort of drunken stupor. Here, on the platform, there were people she knew, people she loved. Friends, family members, her lover. Seeing them all in front of her, alive, was too much.

Ginny hugged her brothers goodbye and let her tears fall freely. They would be fine at Hogwarts, and she would have a year to ponder why and how she was back in her ten year old body once she was back at her home. At least everyone would think that she was only crying because she would miss them all while they were at school.

As the train pulled from the station, Ginny made eye contact with Harry, and she lifted her hand to wave to him.

He waved back.

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Author's Note 2: Please leave a comment, a like, or follow the story if you enjoyed it. Any support is greatly appreciated.

Cheers!


	2. Chapter 2

Author's Note 3: I still own nothing. The Greatest Trick is a time travel fix it that will do its best to avoid bashing. Now featuring several dark themes.

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2

**September 1, 1991**

Ginny was quiet, as she was led out of the station by her mother. The tears had dried quickly once her brothers were on the train, and now she felt confusion and a certain numbness instead of overwhelming grief and joy. Absently, she heard her mother tell her not to worry about her brothers, and that she would be able to attend Hogwarts next year.

She would have smiled at her mother at the reassurance, if that were the problem. She probably had smiled the first time she'd experienced this day. But now, Ginny was walking towards the apparition point with her mother, reliving a memory from a life that had passed her by a decade previously. How could so much have gone wrong in ten years?

Her youth should have been happy, filled with school, and friends, gossip, and boyfriends. Instead, Ginny had dealt with possession, the Dark Lord, a war, the death of her lover and her family, and no small amount of blood prejudice. Ginny's life had been far from idyllic.

She had a second chance, it seemed. Her musings turned to the, admittedly, fuzzy memory of the bar in London where Pettigrew had visited her. There had been instructions, she recalled. Something about June.

Had she been alone she'd have sworn. In front of her mother, instead she settled for frowning, and making a mental note to explore the memory with occlumency exercises when she was in the isolation of her bedroom.

"Let's take advantage of our time away from your brothers, Ginny," Molly said. Ginny looked up at her, just in time to see her mother give her a conspiratorial wink. Ginny didn't remember this part. That was terrifying, but somehow, she knew it was okay.

The afternoon consisted of Ginny and Molly attempting to eat an over-sized ice cream sundae from Florean Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlor, and trying on what felt like every robe in one of the second hand clothing shops. There had been much giggling and chatter, and it had been nice.

But Ginny could not shake her apprehension about the future-past or the future-future.

When she arrived home with her mother, Ginny said she wasn't feeling well and locked herself in her room. She needed to think, and to try and process.

Suffice it to say, she made little progress. How had she come here? If she hadn't been so entirely drunk, she might have a firmer grasp on her situation. But she was pretty sure Peter Pettigrew had done something to her.

Ginny situated herself cross legged on her bed, and closed her eyes. It was time to try and decipher this day. She pulled on her magic, and retreated into her mind.

Ginny had never been an expert Occlumens, but she wasn't exactly a novice. Trying to use occlumency before she'd developed her magic in this body would be difficult, she figured. However, she was pleasantly surprised to find herself sifting through her memories with little difficulty.

There was a necklace.

Pettigrew was placing the necklace on her.

The outlines of the memory were foggy, and there was no detail on the necklace that she could make out. Unfortunately for her, the memory was anything but reliable. If Ginny had been paying attention to anything other than her whiskey, things might have been easier. Not that she was capable of focusing, mind you. Being that drunk was an art, and Ginny was the master.

She tried to focus on the conversation next, but the words seemed distorted and she couldn't really make them out. Nothing but what she already knew. Something about June. Next June?

Ginny didn't know.

She sighed, and opened her eyes.

Ginny's standing theory was that she was in some form of trance, while she was being taken to Lord Voldemort to be executed. If that were the case, then maybe she should enjoy her last hours with her mother and father. But what if she really was in the past? The logical thing to do would be to plan for the future she knew was coming.

She supposed there wasn't any reason she couldn't do both.

That night, when her mother and father were sound asleep, Ginny crept down to the kitchen, dodging the creaky stair with a practiced sort of ease, with a notebook in her hands. She picked the lock on the liquor cabinet with one of her hair pins, and she drank a mouthful of the first bottle she could get her hands on with trembling hands. She discovered that her self perceived need for the drink did not at all agree with her ten year old body's taste buds. She gagged, forced herself to swallow, and took another, longer drink. With a grimace, she realized she'd have to get accustomed to the burning bitterness all over again.

Drinking was a comfort, and one that Ginny was loath to give up.

Ginny collapsed into a chair at the kitchen table, bottle in hand, and opened her notebook.

The facts, as she knew them, were simple and terribly confusing. Fact, she was ten years old, but she remembered her life up until she was around twenty-one. Fact, it was nineteen ninety-one. Fact, everyone she had lost in the second wizarding war was once again alive. It wasn't all good, however.

For one, Ginny was an alcoholic. And while her body no longer required a high level of blood alcohol to function, the mental conditioning of constant drinking for half a year was hard to overcome. It didn't help that she had come to like being inebriated more than being sober. Ginny liked the aloofness that intoxication brought far more than the clarity and pain of sobriety.

And she couldn't do magic legally. She couldn't take steps to stop Voldemort. Not that it would do much, ten year olds didn't have particularly strong magic, legal or not. Ginny wouldn't find out until next year if her magical power had come back in time with her.

There was also the matter of Harry Potter, who she was in love with. She recognized that she should feel dirty, on some level, for being interested in him still. She wasn't a little girl, and he was an eleven year old boy. But she had been desensitized entirely. Fighting a war, killing people with detachment, and watching your friends and family die… it took something from a person.

She wanted Harry, and she would try to have him, when she was able, and when he was capable of such a thing. When they were a few years older... But if he fell in love with someone else…

Well, she'd come to that when she came to it. But she didn't dismiss the idea of manipulating the situation out of hand. And that bothered her somewhere in the back of her mind.

Ginny took another swig from the bottle. It burned as it traveled down her throat. She was feeling pleasantly buzzed after just a few sips and twenty minutes of sitting. She had a lot to figure out, but it would take time. And she might actually have time, for once. But it was frustrating to be so limited. She needed a wand, first and foremost, and that meant waiting.

Giving it up as a bad job, Ginny returned the bottle to the cabinet, locked the door, and went back to her room and tried to sleep.

* * *

**August 16th, 1998. A Dream.**

The wards were set, Hogwarts was as protected as they knew how to make it, and every capable fighter was in position for the pitched battle that would take place. The first time Hogwarts had been assaulted, Voldemort and his Death Eaters had been repelled, and Harry had championed a victory against the darkness. If he'd been considered famous before that battle, it paled to his reputation now.

The Boy-Who-Lived, the Chosen One, and now the Champion of Hogwarts, and Hero of Wizardkind.

Despite the lofty titles, Harry was unchanged, still as timid and kind as ever.

The offensive counter-attacks had been disastrous, and so many members of the Order had fallen since, and now Ginny was once again prepared to defend the ancient castle that had shielded so many from Voldemort and his growing army. Tomorrow their war would be decided, and the fate of every witch, wizard, and muggle along with it.

The last time they had defended the castle, many aurors, professors, and members of the Order of the Phoenix. Now most of them were dead, and the defense was championed by Harry, and those students that were knowledgeable or skilled enough to fight. Most of the others were too young or too old to fight. They were just people seeking refuge from a terrible genocide.

Harry was nervous, she could tell. The weight of everything was now on his shoulders and that clearly terrified him, but there was only so much she could do. Harry had to fight, no amount of preparation or wishing could change that. The question was, if he fought, and when he won, what would the price be? How many would die?

She reached for him, placing a hand gently on his shoulder. He stiffened for the briefest moment before he brought his hand up to hers.

"Let's get some sleep, Ginny," Harry said, looking away from the grounds and back to her. He looked like hell. He had seen hell, over and over again. Ginny's heart broke when she saw how much he was hurting. If only she could take all that pain away and protect him from the world.

She wrapped her arms around him, kissed him fiercely, and led him up the stairs to the room the had secured for themselves. The fear of the dawn kept them awake, but they found distraction in hot kisses and passionate love making.

Ginny savored their time.

They dozed until the sun rose, whispering comfort and caressing. It wasn't really sleep, not like they needed, but they wouldn't have managed any if they had tried.

The attack started before they were dressed, and they scrambled to join the defense.

Half asleep and only just dressed, Ginny and Harry darted into the fray.

It was fast, brutal, and Ginny saw too many of her friends and family members die as they fought through the floors of Hogwarts toward the courtyard, where Voldemort was waiting for Harry.

Bellatrix Lestrange separated her from Harry. She dove behind a suit of armor as a bludgeoning curse passed between them. Harry wheeled around, ready to fire, but Ginny yelled, "No, Harry, you go. I've got her."

If she could stop Bellatrix Lestrange here, then Harry could kill Voldemort, and they could have a life. Oh how she wanted a life with him. Once all of this was over.

She took a breath, and spun out from behind her cover.

Ginny fired a concussive curse, a reductor curse, and two banishing charms in rapid succession. Bellatrix batted them aside with contempt. The walls where Ginny's spells hit were scorched nad cracked, and fighters on both sides gave them a wide berth. This would be single combat to the death.

That suited her just fine.

Ginny rolled under a jet of sickly purple light, and threw three stunners. Bellatrix conjured a shield and strode forward. Ginny backed down the corridor, and eventually turned into a classroom. Ginny pivoted, and flung three desks towards the open door. She immediately followed up with a jet of flames.

Bellatrix vanished the desks, but was caught off guard by the fire. Ginny rushed forward at the sound of Bellatrix's yell of pain. She barreled through the door, caught Bellatrix around the middle, and threw them both to the floor.

Ginny could smell the burned hair and flesh, and knew she'd struck true with her jet of fire.

A desperate struggle for wands began. Bellatrix was scratching, biting, cursing, and trying to angle her wand at Ginny.

Ginny was younger, stronger, and more flexible. Bellatrix was unable to overpower her, and eventually, Ginny sunk her knee into Bellatrix's stomach and pressed all her weight down. Bellatrix dropped her wand, winded, and Ginny dropped a vicious elbow into her nose.

She collected Bellatrix's wand, and shot a cutting curse at Bellatrix's head.

Ginny watched as she died, just to make sure she really was dead.

Panting, she made her way to the courtyard. And Ginny arrived just in time to see Harry fall to the ground, lifeless, at Voldemort's feet. She screamed, tried to run forward. Her magic was crackling from her, haywire, out of control. A stone pillar crumbled under her anguish. She was filled with agonizing grief, overwhelming anger, and no fear of death. Ron grabbed her around the waist and hauled her back. Where had he come from?

"Let me go!" Ginny said. "Let me go to him."

"Ginny, you can't. He's gone. He's gone, we have to leave. We have to go now."

Her brother was right, but she didn't care. She was no longer capable of caring. She fought him every step of the way as she was dragged to the third floor and out a secret passageway.

"Harry!"

* * *

**September 2, 1991**

Ginny woke with a start, shaking, sweating, and somewhat aware that there were tears on her cheeks. She took deep breaths, trying to calm her racing pulse and keep the panic from bubbling over. It was a marginally successful effort, and after a few minutes of sitting in the dark, Ginny rose. She would not be getting any more sleep tonight. She reached for her wand, but felt only air. Then she looked at the room.

She was still in the Burrow, and she was still ten years old. She had no wand, and Harry was still alive. She didn't know if she laughed or cried at the realization. With resignation, she trudged down the stairs.

Once more in the kitchen, Ginny gazed at the liquor cabinet. Conflict raged within her, the defeatism that had governed her existence for so long wanted to just drink until she fell asleep, but the part of her that still hoped, or was still ten years old, recognized that she had a chance to be a better version of herself. Drinking would not help. But it would make everything feel less… less.

And less was what she needed right now.

Still shaking, she fumbled with the lock for several minutes. She was to torn to think properly, and her shaking grew worse. With a grunt of frustration, she punched the cabinet, and sagged against it. Bitterness and frustration overcame her. Tears rolled down her cheeks.

Why was this happening? Why couldn't she have been left to drink herself to death in peace?

Ginny had already given up. Didn't the universe know how hard it was going to be to learn how to _try_ again?

She closed her eyes and took a deep breath, and then another, and another. Eventually her hands stopped shaking.

She turned back to the liquor cabinet, it was easier to open when she had use of her hands. When she wasn't trembling.

She drank from the firewhiskey deeply. The burning didn't matter. Nothing but her hunched over the bottle at four o'clock in the morning.

With a great heave of effort, Ginny turned from the kitchen and made her way outside. Bill's old school broom was still in the shed. She would fly until the sun came up. And then she would start preparing herself to live again.

Life at the Burrow fell into a routine for Ginny over the next few days. She would help her mother in the mornings, when she rose. Doing chores and preparing breakfast were mindless enough tasks, but she was able to focus on something that weren't traitorous memories or horrific nightmares while she was busy with her hands.

She tried her best not to break into the liquor cabinet when her nightmares bothered her. It mostly worked. Except for every night when it didn't.

After she was dismissed from her chores, Ginny would hole up in her room and study the first year curriculum. There were a great many extra textbooks in her brothers' bedrooms, and she took great advantage of this. While spending your days reading through textbooks was boring, Ginny felt it necessary. Her first year had been a blur of possession and nerves. She hadn't learned much, and catching up had been a nightmare in and of itself.

Being ahead was one thing, but really knowing it was more important.

As she read, she took very Hermioneish notes. She was going to have Harry 'teach' her as much as she could. If he knew the material inside and out as well, then he would surely survive. If he survived, then so would her family, so would her friends, so would her dreams.

Ginny knew that reviewing all the material from her youth would allow her to get top marks and help Harry without ever needing to study. It would drive Hermione spare. It would make Ron tetchy. She hoped it would make Harry notice her before his sixth year. Anticipation flooded through her at the thought.

She was disgusting. She didn't care.

Ginny intended to do this with the second year books when she finished, and so on. It was one way to spend her last school year before she actually had school. If Ginny had actually been ten, she'd have hated it.

When studying and being secretive was too much for Ginny, she would go run errands with her mother. They would talk and bond, and Ginny treasured these moments. Her new memories were invaluable, because there was no guarantee that she wouldn't wake up in her old life. Nor was there any guarantee that Harry would win this time, either.

Which meant that time was working against her. It was terrifying.

On a particularly nice September morning, perhaps a fortnight after she had arrived in her time, Ginny agreed to accompany her mother to Diagon Alley. The alternative was to spend the day at the Lovegood residence. And while Ginny did desire to see her friend again, she was not sure of what her own reaction would be. By the time Ginny had turned ten originally, she had already started distancing herself from Luna, out of fear of her strange tendencies causing social problems.

She wouldn't do that now. Instead she'd have to worry about breaking down crying for no perceivable reason. And she had the strangest suspicion that Luna would see right through her. Ginny wasn't ready for that.

So Ginny went to Diagon Alley with her mother.

They popped into the Alley, and headed down the bustling street towards Flourish and Blotts. Percy had written home asking if his mother could supply him with a reference text for his O.W.L. studies as an early Christmas present. Ginny knew her mother was hesitant to spend the money, but Percy had top marks, and he was on track to get nine O.W.L.s.

The bookshop was not nearly as busy as the street outside, and Ginny wandered down the shelves towards the spellbooks. Her mother headed straight for the used books section in the far corner.

Books were, unfortunately, expensive. She wanted to get her hands on some advanced spellbooks, and books on dueling, and warding, and curse-breaking…

_Not now_, Ginny reminded herself. _I can't right now. I haven't any money, nor a wand_.

She went and found her mother, who was comparing two copies of Percy's reference that were in less than ideal condition. Ginny needed to get out of the bookshop as fast as possible, she could feel her hands shaking, flashes of Harry's lifeless eyes, of Fred lying dead, Percy's missing legs, were swirling in her mind's eye.

"Mum, I'm going to walk across the street and look at broomsticks," Ginny said.

Molly looked up from her books. "Do be careful, Ginny. Don't wander too far."

Ginny nodded. "Thanks, mum."

It wasn't the longest conversation she'd had in the last week, but it was close.

Back outside, Ginny walked towards Quality Quidditch Supplies, but stopped when she saw Ollivander's out of the corner of her eye. What she wouldn't give for a wand. Maybe she could barter for one.

With what?

Ginny turned and made her way into the wand shop.

Ollivander looked up from the counter when she entered. He sized her up, and said, "Red hair that shade can only belong to a Weasley. Aren't you a bit early to be coming to me for a wand? From my understanding, you are not to be starting Hogwarts until this time next year."

Ginny felt her cheeks heat up. She hadn't blushed properly in years. "I, er, just wanted to look. Having a wand would be brilliant."

How did he know when she'd be starting Hogwarts, anyway?

Ollivander gave her a smile that made his aged face seem thirty years younger. His eyes lit up with childlike mischief.

"But of course, Miss Weasley. Perhaps your wand is calling to you now. As they say, you know, the wand chooses the witch." He moved around the counter, indicated that she should raise her wand arm, and conjured a measuring tape from thin air.

As he worked, Ginny asked, "How do you know my name, and how old I am?"

"I remember every wand I've ever sold. And I remember every witch or wizard I have ever sold a wand to. Your family have been in many times, and I have made more than my fair share of small talk. You have a brother that started Hogwarts this year, but he did not come to me for a wand. A shame, his magic won't be as good as it could be without his own wand. Using a wand from another witch or wizard just won't quite have the same effect. Ah, and we're done with that." Ollivander shook the measuring tape, and it vanished.

"So Ron should come next summer for a wand, then?" Ginny asked.

"Or sooner, if he could manage it," Ollivander said. "Now let's see here." He walked to the back, and came to the front with no less than a dozen boxes in his arms.

He opened one. "Seven inches, oak, with unicorn hair. Go on now, give it a wave."

She took it in her hands, and felt the weak spark of magic. It would work, but it wasn't hers. Her wand had been yew. But she wasn't sure she would get the same wand now. Ginny waved the wand, thinking of her favorite flowers. A single white lily came out of the wand.

"Quite brilliant!" Ollivander exclaimed. "But that wand is not for you." He took it, and produced another one. "Eight and a half inches, sycamore, dragon heartstring."

Ginny took the wand. There was nothing. She concentrated on the same flower again, and waved the wand. For a moment, something shimmered before her, but the wand was snatched out of her hand before she could force it into existence.

"Definitely not. This one, perhaps. A bit long, at ten inches, but we shall see. A rather interesting one, and unique in my shop, veela hair, and a bit temperamental. Made of yew."

Ginny again took the wand, it was hot, like fire. Perhaps even like a veela's fire. Ginny exhaled, waved the wand, and conjured a bouquet of lilies. But it didn't feel right.

"Close, but no," Ollivander said. "You have impressive magic, Miss Weasley. Powerful and focused. The wand we choose for you will be a catalyst for greatness, I'm sure."

She waved the other nine wands Ollivander had brought with him, and he went into the back to fetch more. Behind her, the door opened.

"Ginny Weasley, just what do you think you are doing here?"

Ginny winced. She hadn't intended to spend so much time here. Technically she hadn't expected to spend any time in the wand shop at all. It had just… called to her.

"I, er, was just waving some wands, mum," Ginny said, surprised by how much she still feared her mother's wrath.

"Ginny, you know we can't -" Molly started, but stopped when Ollivander came back to the front of the shop, his arms once again laden with wands.

"Ah, Molly, how are you today? I've been looking for a match for your daughter. Quite a tricky one, she is. Her magic is quite potent. Would you look at all the flowers she's conjured while we search?"

Molly looked about the shop, and saw the dozens of lilies. "None of the wands that made all these were her match?"

"I'm afraid not," Ollivander said. "Whichever wand has called Ginny into my shop has yet to be found. A most enjoyable puzzle that I am determined to piece together."

Ginny looked at her shoes, feeling uncharacteristically embarrassed. She hadn't felt embarrassed in years. Well, her own years, not her current years.

"Mr. Ollivander, while I appreciate your efforts, we have an old family wand set aside for Ginny already, and I really must be getting home, so-"

"Absolutely not! Mrs. Weasley, you must know that each wand is uniquely suited to the witch or wizard with which it bonds. An old family wand like that will never allow your daughter to reach her fullest potential. I must insist."

Ginny felt awful. She knew her mother couldn't afford a wand right now, and Molly hated the embarrassment of admitting that their family could not afford something. "It's all right, Mr. Ollivander," Ginny said. "I'll be just fine with my family wand."

Ollivander looked very conflicted. He wanted Ginny to have the wand she was meant to have, but he was also running a business. It wasn't as if he could just give her a wand for free. Even if he might like to. It would set a bad precedent.

Well," Ollivander said as he deflated. "If that's the way you feel, I suppose I won't be able to convince you otherwise. I wish you would reconsider."

Ginny smiled sadly, and turned to her mother, "Sorry to make you worry, Mum, we can go now."

The look her mother gave her broke her heart. Molly didn't want to take something like this away from her daughter. And Ginny knew she would end up with her own wand by her second year. All she wanted to do was hug her mum and tell her it was okay, but she settled for grabbing her mother's hand and leading the way outside of the wand shop.

They were both quiet for a moment, until Molly said, "I'm sorry Ginny, but you know we can't afford it."

Ginny looked at her mum. "I know, I just wanted to see what it was like. Feeling all the magic flow through the wands was brilliant, though. Did you see all the flowers?"

Molly nodded. "Mr. Ollivander seemed very impressed with you."

"He did, didn't he? How long do you think it would take me to get a wand if I saved all my pocket money?" Ginny asked.

"Quite a while, dear. Wands don't come cheap."

Ginny smiled. "That's okay. I want to know what it'll be like when I find the wand that chooses me."

"That's quite mature of you."

"Well I am the only girl. I'm going to do better than all my brothers. Top marks, prefect, quidditch captain. Maybe even head girl at school. I'm definitely going to need my own wand for that!"

Molly gave her a wide smile, and pulled her close.

Ginny's heart fluttered with hope and happiness for the first time in forever.

* * *

Author's Note 4: I can't believe the positive support that I got for part one! Eleven reviews and nearly 100 hits. It would mean the world to me if we could smash those numbers out of the water. If you enjoyed, please review, follow, or favorite. Any and all support is greatly appreciated.

Cheers!


	3. Chapter 3

Author's Note 5: Holy moly! Chapter two had the most reviews I've ever received from a published chapter. Ever. Thank you all so very, very much! I can't believe the support from you guys, or how well this has been received so far. We're going to keep following Ginny's year without Hogwarts for the next several chapters, as there's a lot to unpack here.

Additionally, I went back and edited a few hilarious mistakes (read: typos) in the first two chapters. If you notice any, feel free to point 'em out. Sometimes proofreading doesn't catch everything. Probably should get a beta reader one of these days.

The Greatest Trick is a time-travel fix it that does it's best to avoid bashing, because bashing is trashy.

* * *

3

**September 16, 1991**

Going even another day without a wand was torturous for Ginny. After her experience in Ollivander's, she found herself desperately yearning to answer the call of whichever wand had drawn her there. "The wand chooses the witch," Ollivander had said. Ginny was ready to be chosen. Ready to reconnect to her magic in a way that she was currently not able to.

The only respite from her overwhelmingly noticeable lack of a wand, was her ever present night terrors. It wasn't a respite at all.

Ginny found herself in the kitchen with her mum, helping with the dishes after breakfast one morning, and pondering how to broach the subject of earning some coin to buy a wand.

"Mum?" Ginny asked.

"Yes, dear?" Molly said.

"Well, you know how Ollivander said my magic wouldn't be as good as it could be without a wand that had chosen me?" Ginny waited for Molly to nod, but pressed forward before any protest about cost could be raised. "I was thinking that I could go down into Ottery St. Catchpole, and maybe find some work tending gardens or something. I know muggle children do that for pocket money, and I really, really, want to get a wand of my own."

Molly was frowning now. "I'm not really comfortable with you going into town on your own."

"I could get Luna Lovegood to come with me." Ginny suggested. "I'm sure she could use the company, and that way I wouldn't be alone."

It may have been the wrong thing to say, because Molly looked, if anything, even less likely to accept.

"I don't know… Muggles can be dangerous, and there's the statute of secrecy to consider."

Ginny wanted to shout, but she knew it wouldn't help her case. "I can't exactly break the statute with magic," she pointed out. "And, thanks to dad, I have plenty of muggle clothes."

A point in her favor! Ginny almost celebrated. Almost.

"Well I suppose you could send Errol to ask if Luna will be able to join you," Molly said. "But I absolutely forbid you to do this on your own. And you'll have to be back before sundown. And you still have your chores around the house."

Ginny hugged her mother fiercely. "Thank you!"

She dashed from the kitchen, up to her room, and scribbled a note to Luna. She hoped that Xenophilius would say yes. Ginny knew he was fiercely overprotective of Luna, it made sense after the accident involving Luna's mother, but it was still hard to see.

Ginny suspected that the overprotective coddling was a big part of why Luna had been so queer when she'd gone off to Hogwarts. Luna hadn't had an friends to rely on (and that was Ginny's fault), and she'd been left all alone with her father's eccentricities.

This time it would be different.

Ginny sent the letter off with a genuine smile on her face. _Time to save a friend, _Ginny thought.

Much to Ginny's chagrin, no reply came.

Three weeks into September, Ginny received a letter from Ron. She couldn't remember having received post from Ron before Halloween the first time. And that letter had contained a lot of complaining about Hermione Granger, and even more bragging that his best mate at school was Harry Potter.

It had been less than perfect at the time. Ginny had been entirely too annoyed with Ron to respond to the letter at all.

What had changed?

She recognized the owl as Hedwig immediately. The snowy owl was as beautiful as ever as she swooped into the kitchen through the open window. Hedwig landed before Ginny and offered her leg, where a note was attached. "Would you mind staying here until I write a reply?" Ginny asked the owl as she untied the letter. Hedwig hooted in acknowledgment. "Thank you. I'm afraid I don't have any owl treats, but I do have bacon. Please help yourself."

Hedwig took the largest piece from Ginny's plate, and flew up beside Errol. Errol shuffled around, hooted in protest at the new company, and fell off the perch. Ginny giggled.

The two owls seemed to have some kind of disagreemend about their perching arrangements over the next several seconds, as Errol tried (entirely unsuccessfully) to reclaim his spot on the perch. Eventually Hedwig hooted, annoyed, and shuffled over to make room for Errol.

"Now what's all this noise?" Arthur asked as he walked into the kitchen, dressed for work.

"Nothing dad, just a letter from Ron. Did you see the owl? She's beautiful."

Ginny gestured to the perch.

Her father's gaze followed, and he seemed surprised when he spotted Hedwig.

"So I see. Well, I'd stay to ask about your brother's letter, but I'd best be off to work. There's some business with a wizard who's stolen some muggle picture players, and enchanted them to bite the hands to anyone who puts the HVS's in."

Ginny smiled. For all her father loved muggles, he never would really have a grasp of how muggle technology worked, or what any of it was properly called. And that was okay. More than okay, really. That was who her father was, brilliant, unassuming, and blissfully childish in all things. Though she expected he'd be infinitely better at his job if he took the time to actually learn from Harry or Hermione or any other number of muggles and muggle born witches and wizards.

As her father left, Ginny scarfed down her breakfast, nervous and eager to get to the letter. With breakfast done, she deposited her plate in the sink and retreated up the stairs, taking them three at a time.

She locked the door to her room.

Carefully, tentatively, and acting as if it might disintegrate if she opened it too quickly, Ginny took the letter, and sat at the small desk where she spent most of her study time. She opened the letter with shaking hands.

_Ginny,_

_I did tell you I would write, but to be honest I kind of forgot until tonight. Mum wrote to ask how I was liking Hogwarts so far, and she reminded me to write you. Then, when I was talking to Harry, you know the bloke mum helped get onto the platform, about how families keep in touch here at Hogwarts. He asked if wizards had feletones. I told him I didn't know what that was. So we were talking about the difference between muggle houses and wizard houses. He asked if wizards had ovens. Of course we do. So Harry asked if there was eclectrisy. I don't know what that is, but I figured I'd write and you could ask mum and dad about how ovens worked._

_Harry also wanted to know why you waved at him when the train pulled out of the station. I tried to tell him it's because you're barking, but he really wants to know. Don't say anything weird, though. He's my friend and I know how many Harry Potter fairy tale books you have._

_Right, I'm sure you know, but now is probably a good time to make sure. Harry Potter is my best friend at school. He's not at all like I'd have expected, but he's really nice._

_I think Fred and George were serious about sending you a toilet seat, by the way. I saw them hunched over a toilet on the fourth floor yesterday, and I didn't even bother to ask what they were getting up to. I don't expect mum will be pleased. Hope you have some place to put it._

_Tell mum and dad I said hi._

_Ron_

Ginny found herself smiling fondly at the short and abrasive letter home. Ron was entirely too tactless, in an endearing sort of way. But he was far better off than she remembered. He hadn't really bragged about Harry being his friend.

That was a really, really big deal.

Had what she done at the train station really changed so much? It seemed impossible.

Still, it gave her something to focus on other than memorizing the first year coursework, well that and sneaking downstairs to drink at night whenever she had nightmares. She'd have to write back, of course. But she had to be careful not to overplay her hand.

Ginny the war veteran could answer any and all questions Harry had. Ginny the ten year old could not. Fuck. She'd have to go and 'learn' about muggle things.

Ginny took the letter back downstairs and found her mother sitting in the living room, and getting a head start on the Christmas sweaters. Ginny smiled at the thought of all her brothers (and Harry) receiving their gifts.

"Mum, have a look at this letter Ron sent me." Ginny waved the letter as she crossed the room. "He has some questions from a muggle born friend of his," she lied. "Can you help me answer them?"

Molly Weasley looked up and smiled. "Of course, dear." She put her knitting aside, and allowed Ginny to curl up beside her in the cozy armchair by the fire.

The comfort and warmth of being curled up with her mother was overwhelming. Ginny had to choke back bitter tears. What reason could she possibly have to cry? None that she could feasible give as a ten year old.

With the help of her mother, which she very technically did not need, Ginny was able to craft a reply that answered Ron's questions, and asked after Harry at the same time. With the answers worked out, Ginny headed up to her room to pen the reply.

_Ron,_

_Thank you for finally writing. It's very boring at the Burrow without anyone but mum and dad for company. I've been sneaking out and practicing on Bill's old broom, but don't tell mum. I want to be able to do that all year. I'll be better than Fred and George before long. We went shopping the other day, and I got to wave some wands at Ollivander's. Mum didn't let me get a wand, though._

_How school? Are you having trouble in classes, or are they easy? Mum doesn't ever tell me much about what courses are like._

_For Harry: Wizards don't need electricity the way muggles do. Things that run on electricity in a muggle household are powered by magic here. Ovens can be charmed to heat to specific temperatures, for example. And we can use floo powder instead of telephones. Apparition is also an option. Apparition is where you disappear from one place and appear in another._

_Tell me more about Harry. Fred and George were saying that Harry was Harry Potter when we were at the train station. It's so exciting that they weren't having me on. How does he not know anything about being a wizard? He beat You-Know-Who! If he has more questions, he is free to send them, and we'll do our best to answer them._

_And speaking of Fred and George, I am going to write them and ask for them to personalize my toilet seat. I'd like it charmed to display my house colors when I get sorted. Do you think I could get it set up here without mum and dad noticing?_

_Ginny_

Ginny put down her quill and read her note. Was it too forward? Maybe a bit, but fortune favored the bold, and trying to get into contact with Harry was paramount. Besides that, it would behoove her to get into contact with all of her brothers. There were things that could be learned now that she could teach Harry next year.

And so, before she gave Hedwig her reply to Ron (and Harry), Ginny wrote letters to Percy and Fred and George. She asked about coursework, pranks, and useful things to know about Hogwarts for the coming year. She tried not to make her letters sound particularly strange for a ten year old, but she was sure they did. Ginny wasn't ten anymore. She was a twenty year old alcoholic who had given up on the world trapped inside the body of ten year old who definitely hadn't yet given up.

She scooped up her letters, and carried them down to Hedwig.

"These are for my brothers," Ginny said. "I have three total here, is that okay?"

Hedwig gave her a look that said rather plainly that it was a trivial task no matter the number of letters she was sending.

"Make sure they give you a nice treat when you get there," Ginny said as she tied the letters to Hedwig's leg.

Hedwig hooted in confirmation that she would, in fact, be receiving compensation for her services, and flew out the open kitchen window.

Ginny watched the owl wistfully, she wished she could just be at Hogwarts. It would make things a great deal easier. Waiting a year to get started was painful regardless. But it was one year of wasted time for Harry. She knew he'd be treated like any other student, and he'd learn like any other student. But Harry absolutely needed special treatment. He needed advanced training, extra classes, more spells.

She sighed. More work for her, then.

But there wasn't really any time to dwell. Five days was more than enough waiting. She turned to her mum, who was humming as she bustled about the kitchen.

"I'm going to Luna's house, mum," Ginny said. "I haven't heard back from them, and we haven't seen Luna in over a month. I'm worried about her."

Molly gave her a look that very clearly said it was rude to interfere in other people's business. Ginny pretended not to notice it, and instead busied herself by lacing up her trainers.

Eventually Molly sighed. "Be back before sundown, dear. And stay on the main road."

"I will, mum," Ginny said. And then she was out the door.

* * *

Harry was sitting in some far flung corner of the common room (which was basically reserved for first year students) with Ron when Hedwig returned carrying not one, but three letters. Had Ron sent off more than one? Harry wasn't sure, but her rushed to the window to let Hedwig into the common room all the same. She hooted once in thanks and circled back to Ron, who detached the letters with interest. Harry tried to seem casual about the whole thing. But he was curious about what questions he had asked Ron's family.

A part of him would not be surprised if they hadn't bothered with him at all.

"They're from Ginny," Ron said. Ginny, Harry knew, was Ron's younger sister. She'd waved at him on the platform. "She's written to Percy and Fred and George as well."

Harry nodded. It only made sense for her to write her brothers. The thought was tinged with jealousy. It would be nice to have brothers to write to.

Ron put the letters for his brothers aside, and tore open the envelope that contained his own letter. Harry, who had been revising for his first Defense against the Dark Arts exam, was now too distracted by Ron's post to focus on his notes. It was a shame. He'd been doing so very well with his revision. Ron had promised that he'd ask a few questions about the wizarding world to his family so that Harry could have a better understanding of the differences in both culture and technology.

Ron's dad worked with muggles, and Harry had jumped at the opportunity to learn about this new world he was a part of from someone who had the opposite problem.

After a minute or two, Ron looked up and offered the letter to Harry. "There's a bit in here for you, if you'd like. Ginny answered your questions and offered to let you ask whatever else you want. Not sure why you would, muggles are mental."

Harry rolled his eyes. Ron couldn't understand that he had lived as a muggle for the first ten years of his life. Everything at Hogwarts was foreign to him. It was brilliant, better than any life he could have ever imagined, and far and away more exciting. But it was all strange and different. Asking questions helped orient him.

He took the letter from Ron's hand and began to read. She answered his questions, offered him a lifeline to understanding. Harry was home at Hogwarts and Ron was his best friend. And he thought Ginny sounded nice.

He would definitely be writing. There was a laundry list of questions to be asked and have answered.

Harry would have liked to compose a new letter then and there, but his Defense exam was the following morning. The letter would have to wait.

* * *

When Ginny arrived at the Lovegood House, she'd never actually used the Floo to get here, so she had no idea if it had a name like The Burrow, it was nearly midday. She opened the rickety gate, and slipped past the worn out sign that said 'Editor of the Quibbler.'

She knocked on the front door.

Nothing.

Ginny knocked again.

Still nothing.

Ginny growled in frustration and tried the door. It was open? Curiously, Ginny stepped into the house, and what she saw was less than ideal. The living room, which was visible from the door, was a mess. She remembered it being immaculate when she'd visited as a young girl. Off the living room was the kitchen, and even from the door, she could smell the rancid food. Nobody had bothered with dishes or taking out the rubbish. What was going on here? Ginny stepped into the house, and nearly killed herself when she tripped on an old pile of Quibblers. Right. Time to watch her footing, then.

Ginny ignored the disaster of the living space, and headed upstairs to the bedrooms.

She found Luna at once. She was sitting on the floor outside the master bedroom, knees drawn to her chest, and crying silently. Ginny's heart broke. Luna definitely wasn't supposed to be crying her eyes out. That wasn't how she'd imagined her harmless conversation beginning.

"Luna?" She asked softly.

Luna started, panic evident on her face, and furiously swiped at the tears on her face. "Ginny! Why are you here?"

"You didn't send a letter back with Errol. I was worried about you," Ginny said.

"Letter?" Luna asked.

Ginny frowned. "You didn't get it?"

Luna shook her head. "Daddy gets all of the post in his study. I'm not supposed to go in there."

Ginny pulled her distraught friend into a hug. "Well it doesn't matter now. I'm here, and we can talk about it properly."

Luna hugged her back, clung to her really.

"Where's your dad?" Ginny asked.

Luna stiffened and pointed to the bedroom door. "In there. He doesn't come out some days. I'm worried about him."

Ginny looked at the door. How long had this been going on? Luna's mother had died… a year and a half ago? Luna had always said, when they were at Hogwarts, that Xenophilius became overprotective of her. She hadn't thought for even a second that Luna would _lie_ about such a thing. Luna was always so brutally honest about everything. It was part of why people were so uncomfortable around her.

But it did make sense. She had been with Harry long enough to know that people who were traumatized were very good at hiding it. And Luna was obviously no exception. This wouldn't do at all. Ginny could help, she had to.

"Why don't you get cleaned up and I'll tell you all about what I wrote in my letter," Ginny said. She took in Luna's bedraggled appearance.

"You don't mind waiting for me?" she asked.

Ginny smiled, "Of course not, Luna. You're my friend."

After a moment's hesitation, Luna retreated back to her own room. Ginny headed downstairs, and with a grimace, marched into the kitchen. She learned quickly that she did not have enough magical energy to do wandless magic properly.

However, she did manage a scourgify on the moldy dishes. With some of the grime magically cleaned, Ginny set about stacking up the unwashed plates, cups, and cutlery on one side of the counter, and making room in the sink to actually wash them.

Upstairs, she heard a shower being turned on. That was good. Luna would feel a sight better after a shower.

Ginny dutifully washed and dried each and every dish. She was unsure where they were meant to be put away. Every single cupboard and cabinet was depressingly empty and dusty. With a sigh, she bustled about in search of a rag. She found a clean one forgotten in a corner of a drawer, and dusted out the cabinets before putting the dishes away.

Then she took the rubbish out.

When Luna made it downstairs, the kitchen no longer smelled like something had died in it, and Ginny was clearing off the small table.

Luna squeaked when she saw the kitchen. "Ginny, you didn't have to..."

Ginny turned and smiled at her. Luna was on the verge of tears again. "It was no trouble, Luna, really."

It was a lot of trouble, actually, but no ten year old girl deserved to live in such filth. And Ginny was more than capable of waging a battle against the dishes without a wand.

"I.." Luna didn't seem to have the words for what she wanted to say. "I didn't want you to see," she managed eventually.

"It's nothing to be ashamed of, Luna. You've been through a lot. Sometimes people need help. Just make sure you know that I will always help you."

Luna did cry then. And Ginny hugged her again. She felt terribly awkward about the whole thing, but Ginny was old enough to be Luna's batty aunt, or at least an older sister who already knew about the hardships of life. What was adding Luna's burden to her own, really?

When Luna had cried herself out, Ginny dug about for some food that hadn't gone off, and made Luna lunch.

She spent the day talking with Luna, and when they felt up to it, they cleaned the living room as well. Ginny forgot entirely about asking Luna to help her with the gardening.

And when she did remember that night, in her room, she laughed. Maybe getting a wand wasn't the most important thing for her at the moment at all.

* * *

**March 27, 2000. A Dream.**

The alleyway was shrouded in darkness. It was meant to be a safe apparition point for remaining members of the Order of the Phoenix, but, like always, there was a leak in their information network. On their way back from a strike against a Death Eater safehouse, they had been ambushed. Four Death Eaters had fallen before Ginny and her father in the chaos of their retreat. Spells had flown everywhere.

Rivulets of blood ran down Ginny's arm. The entire right side of her body screamed in protest, but she stood tall, wand raised and ready to strike at Draco Malfoy. Behind her, her father lay dying. Malfoy had cast some kind of cutting spell entirely non-verbally and had caught them off guard.

"Come now, Weasley," Malfoy drawled. "You can't win. You're injured, and your pathetic excuse for a father is dead. Just surrender now and I promise to make it quick."

Ginny spat at him, defiantly.

His disdainful amusement morphed into a scowl. "Have it your way, blood traitor. You can die slow. I'll enjoy hearing you scream." He raised his wand again, but Ginny was ready.

While she was by no means an expert in wandless magic, Ginny had learned defensive magic from Harry Potter. Her shield charm flew from her wand before Malfoy's cutting curse reached her, and the spell ricocheted into the wall of the alley.

Concrete and brick shatterd with a bang and the shrapnel caught her in the side. She let out a shout of pain and staggered left. A bludgeoning curse hit her in the left arm and she was spinning, falling, screaming in pain and rage. She couldn't die, not like this. Not like this.

And especially not at the hands of Draco Malfoy.

Ginny rolled left, and she knew her left arm was broken. Pain flared, her body roared in protest. She ignored it. She summoned her wand to her as she sprung to her feet, and countered a reductor curse with a flick of her wand.

The spell hit the opposite wall of the alley, disintegrating a hefty portion of it.

"Die!" Draco yelled.

"Fuck you!" Ginny said at the same time.

Two curses flew, both green. Ginny ducked. The wall behind her exploded. Ginny fell forward, her head hit the concrete.

This was it, she was going to die. She was going to see her family and her lover at last. She closed her eyes and waited. And waited.

_I'm coming, Harry._

At some point she must have lost consciousness, because when she opened her eyes again, the sky was bright and blue. In the distance, she vaguely heard the hubbub of muggle London. She tried to sit up, and every part of her body screamed in protest. She needed a healer, desperately.

That would have to wait, however.

Her breath game in great rasping gasps as she rolled to her knees and looked around. Beside her, her father lay dead, eyes glassy. He was staring at the sky with a look of horror etched on his face. The hot rush of tears came to her and she wiped at her cheeks with her right hand.

Down the alley, Draco Malfoy lay dead. Her killing curse had struck him in the chest. It was the first she'd ever cast. But she knew it would not be the last.

She screamed at the heavens. How was it fair that she had lived again? Didn't the universe know that she _wanted_ to die?

* * *

**September 23, 1991**

Ginny sat bolt upright in bed, breathing rapid and shallow. She was covered in a cold sweat. Every night was the same. She'd go to bed, have nightmares of her future past, and wake panicked and trembling. How long would this go on?

She knew she couldn't live like this forever. But she couldn't _tell anybody._ Who would believe her if she did? And more than that, who would be willing to help? It was a no-win situation that required total isolation.

Ginny dressed silently.

The hallway was a welcome relief from the claustrophobia of her bedroom. Soon she was in the kitchen, picking the lock on the liquor cabinet. The first gulp numbed her, and she slumped to the floor. Another sip and the warmth was coursing through her veins. Once her breathing settled, she grabbed the now mostly empty bottle of whiskey and left out the back door.

She drank slowly as she walked, heading to the broom shed in contemplative silence.

Ginny never got back to sleep after one of her nightmares, and she hadn't gone a day without one. Ginny was tired, and she'd soon need a new way to get alcohol to take the edge off when she woke up. Perhaps a short trip into the muggle part of the village. It would be easy enough to lift a bottle or two from some unsuspecting shop owner.

She downed the last of the bottle at the shed, and fumbled with the lock for nearly a minute before she got it to open. She giggled, realized she would need to put the bottle down, and gracelessly threw it aside. It bounced in the grass and rolled away.

She opened the door, leaning on it for support. Ginny was drunk. She liked being drunk. Everything was happier this way. Happy like she used to be. And there was no pressure to be there for anyone else, either. She didn't have to be a daugher, or a friend, or anything. No Molly to lie to, or Luna to protect, or anything like that. Just Ginny, and that happy, hazy fog that inebriation brought.

This was the most alcohol she'd ever had in her ten year old body, and it was definitely time to learn the Wronski Feint. Yes, this was the perfect morning for it. Harry had shown her the basics of it once upon a time, but she barely remembered it.

But she was Ginny Weasley, war veteran, and once aspiring professional quidditch player.

Her takeoff was shaky at best, and she nearly fell off when she was about thirty feet up in the air. When she corrected her flight path, Ginny let her fears fall away with the ground, and she let the warmth of the firewhiskey take her up, up, up into the sky.

She giggled again.

It had been nearly a week since she'd sent her post to Hogwarts with Hedwig, and she had not yet heard anything back from her brothers.

Harry hadn't written either. Nobody ever wrote her back, because she was Ginny Weasley, little sister and inconvenience.

It was terrible not hearing from any of them.

The chilly morning air was pleasant on her skin as she soared to and fro.

It was admittedly difficult to perform a move as complex as the Wronski Feint when one was inebriated, but Ginny was determined not to head inside until she had managed it. Ginny rose high into the air, pivoted her broom, and began her dive.

Her grip slipped, and she flipped head over feet on the broom. Disoriented, and now afraid for her life, Ginny tried to correct, but she didn't know which way was up. How ironic would it be for this to be the thing that killed her?

Her flipping and panicking slowed her fall, but she slammed into the ground and felt something snap. White hot pain lanced through her and her vision grew blurry. She screamed in pain.

Her wrist was most definitely broken, she realized as she sat up. Her right hand hung lamely off her arm, and every attempt to move her wrist or fingers brought nothing but pain.

With pain came clarity, and the whiskey induced fog she had been in was gone. _Fuck_.

How was she going to deal with having a broken wrist? Her family couldn't afford a trip to St. Mungo's, and she'd be damned if she'd ever admit to her overprotective mother what happened. If she did that, she would never again see the light of day. What to do? She'd have to find where her mother had kept her grandmother's wand. It was the wand that she'd get as a gift on her next birthday.

It was probably in the master bedroom. But she wasn't going to be getting into the bedroom while her mum and dad were sleeping. Maybe if she nicked one of her parents' wands? That would be risky.

Ginny got to her feet shakily, and grabbed up the broom in her good hand. The bristles were bent at awkward angles, and she thought perhaps the shaft was cracked after the fall. _Shit_. It took her several long and awkward minutes to return the broom to the shed and get it locked up.

She was sweating freely from the pain and the exertion now.

She cast her gaze about for the empty bottle of firewhiskey, but did not see it. Something to find later, then. Ginny only hoped her dad didn't find the bottle when he went out to his shed to tinker with muggle things.

By the time she got back to the Burrow, she needed to sit, and catch her breath. Ginny was certain she was going to pass out from the pain. She collapsed onto the sofa in the den and closed her eyes.

She was woken some time later by her mum shaking her gently. "Ginny, are you okay? Why are you down here? You look a fright, do you have a fever?"

Ginny weighed her options, but decided that a fever would be easier to deal with than a broken bone as far as cover stores were concerned. She nodded, and was happy to note that she probably looked as pathetic as she felt.

"Let me get you some tea, dear, and we'll have you feeling better as soon as we can," Molly was saying as she bustled into the kitchen. Ginny followed behind her carefully, and sat at the table, being sure to keep her broken hand out of sight of her mother.

Molly filled the kettle and tapped it with her wand, it started to steam at once. Then she reached into the small box where they kept tea bags and found it empty. Molly smiled at Ginny. "Not to worry dear, we've got some more in the pantry." She bustled off to a small door, and hunched over to dig for the tea.

She'd left her wand on the counter.

Ginny seized the moment and bounded across the room. She snatched up the wand in her left hand and pointed it at her right. "Episkey," Ginny whispered.

She almost screamed as her bone snapped back into alignment. Tears formed in her eyes as she bit back the pain, slapped her left hand over her mouth, and flexed her abdominal muscles to quell any sound she might have made. She deposited the wand back onto the counter, and returned to her seat just as her mum poked back out with the tea bags.

She tried to smile at her mother through the pain, but it must have come out as a grimace, because Molly drove into action at once.

In a moment, Ginny had tea and was being directed up to her bedroom to continue resting. With a promise to get back to sleep as soon as she finished her tea, Ginny closed the door and deposited the steaming mug onto her desk. She opened her wardrobe and began digging for an old top to cut into a bandage to keep her wrist in place. The bone was realigned, but it was definitely still broken.

_Shit_, Ginny thought. _Shit_!

She found a top that she didn't love, tossed it onto her bed and began tearing at it with her good hand and her teeth. It took her fifteen minutes to make enough strips of fabric to wrap up her arm in makeshift bandages, but she managed it.

At least it was nearly October. She'd arouse no suspicion wearing only long sleeved and baggy tops for the time being.

It could have been worse. Probably.

* * *

Author's Note 6: As always, if you enjoyed, please follow and favorite the story, and if you're willing to take the time, please leave a review.

Cheers!


	4. Chapter 4

Author's Note 7: You guys are seriously amazing. We're at 91 reviews after just three chapters and we are at 500 hits. This thing is taking off and I am so happy that you are all so engaged with the story. Please accept my thanks.

The Greatest Trick is a time-travel fix it that does it's best to avoid bashing, because bashing is trashy and every character should be represented fairly, and as in-character as possible within the setting.

* * *

4.

**Sometime. A Dream.**

Ginny woke in the pre-dawn hours of the morning – it must have been the next day, because Ginny was still in her bedraggled clothes and her wrist was still wrapped in makeshift bandages. Harry was sitting at her desk, watching her with that kind, timid smile of his. But it was not the eleven year old Harry she had seen at King's Cross station.

When she saw him, she sat up, smiling from ear to ear. "Harry!"

She hugged him, and he hugged her back. This was her Harry, the man with whom she had been to hell and back. She breathed in the scent of him, warm, and smelling of windswept air, broom polish, old books, ink, and cooking spices. When he released her, she knew she was trembling. Ginny realized just how much smaller she was now than… than...

"How are you here?" Ginny asked, taking his hands in hers.

"You know the answer," Harry said.

Ginny shook her head. "I'm… sleeping."

"Got it in one," Harry said with a smile.

"That still doesn't tell me how you're here," Ginny said. "I always have dreadful nightmares."

He smirked, but did not answer. "You look like hell, Ginny." He lifted a hand and gently tucked a hair behind her ear. She flushed. "I hate when you are miserable."

"I've just been dealing with a lot," Ginny admitted.

"I know you have, love. Going back, doing all this again. It would be too hard for me." He laughed then, a rueful, bittersweet sound. "But you always were the truest Gryffindor I ever knew. Brave enough to take on any challenge. Courageous enough to stand against the darkest bits of magic ever conceived."

Ginny smiled at the compliment. "This isn't the same thing, you know. I didn't exactly _choose_ this."

"Yes," Harry said. "Pettigrew did something right for once. Strange, that."

"How did you…?" Ginny asked, but she trailed off when Harry gave her a pointed look.

"You're dreaming, love," Harry reminder her gently. "Something happened that your mind needs to work through. So here I am. Let's work through it."

"Why now?" Ginny asked, and her temper flared. "What could I possibly need from you now that I didn't need from you weeks ago?"

"You tell me, Ginny. I'm just here to help you solve a problem."

She sat back on her bed and surveyed Harry bitterly. It wasn't real. He was still gone.

"I wouldn't say it's not real," Harry said.

"How?" Ginny demanded.

He tapped her head gently. "It's your dream and your mind. I'm part of that."

She hung her head. "I wanted you to be real."

Harry laughed then, a genuine laugh that reached his beautiful green eyes. "Who's to say this isn't real?"

Ginny frowned. "You said yourself it's in my head."

"And what difference does that make? Plenty of things happen in your head, but that doesn't invalidate them," Harry grasped her hand. "Do not dwell on the dream, Ginny. What problem do you need to solve?"

Ginny snorted derisively. What problem didn't she need to solve?

"Let's see. You died, my family died, and I was sent back in time by Peter Pettigrew to fix it. I have no idea where to begin, other than that I plan on teaching you advanced magic as soon as possible. But I can't do that now because you're at Hogwarts, I'm here, and I don't have a wand." Ginny took a breath. "I can't tell anyone because I'd get locked up in St. Mungos for weeks while a mind healer took a good long look at my head, and nobody deserves that. To top it off, I can't stop drinking, Luna's miserable because her father is too depressed to raise her, I have no money, and I haven't had a proper sleep in three weeks."

She rose then, and glared at Harry. "So tell me, Potter, what problem exactly do you think you're supposed to help me with?"

He smiled at her. "I suppose I'm here to tell you that you need to stop drinking. Your body is too young to handle it properly. You've already hurt yourself," He pointed at her wrist, which she became acutely aware of for just a moment. The pain was overwhelming. Just as fast as the sensation came, it was gone. "Ginny, you're going to kill yourself from grief and guilt before you even have a chance to live again."

She was crying now, but she didn't much care if dream Harry saw or not. "What would you do in my place?"

"You know the answer to that, Ginny. I've been to the place you're in, and you were always the one to pull me out of it."

She wanted to scream at him, to tell him that she didn't have anyone to pull her out of her stupor. But she couldn't find the words. When he rose and hugged her tiny body to him, she sagged pitifully and let him guide her back to bed.

"You do have people you can tell. Even if you can't be entirely honest, you can tell them," Harry said.

"Who?" Ginny asked sleepily. Harry was fading away now, and she didn't want him to go.

"I do believe Molly and Arthur love you unconditionally, and would do whatever it took to help you," he said.

It clicked then. "Mum spiked my tea."

"Very good. With what?" Harry asked.

This was an old exercise Harry had taught her. Magic was curious in that you could diagnose yourself when you felt threatened. It was a subset of occlumency that Harry had insisted she master.

"Something to help me sleep," Ginny said, automatically.

"And?" Harry pressed.

She thought about it, the pain in her wrist earlier in her dream had been like needles, overwhelming and constant, but not the shooting pain of a broken wrist. "Skelegrow," Ginny breathed.

So her mum knew. Her cover was blown after only three weeks. It was pitiful.

"It's okay, Ginny. You know it's okay. They aren't going to send you off to the mad house. You just have to let them in. They can help."

By help, Ginny knew he meant get her sober, get her sleeping potions, and let her cope. But they couldn't be allowed to know the truth behind everything.

"No, they can't," Harry agreed. "Time travel is dangerous enough without people knowing about it."

Ginny was so torn, but Harry had a point. She needed to do better. If not for herself then certainly for… for…

"Luna?" Harry supplied.

Ginny nodded. Harry smiled at her.

"What if I can't do it? What if I can't stop, or bring myself to tell them? What if my best isn't good enough?" Ginny asked. Her eyes were very heavy.

"Then I will come back, my love. I'll protect you always. I'll help you always. You know I will. The me from then and the me from now." He pulled the covers over her. "You just have to try, Ginny."

The last thing she felt was the gentle warmth of his lips on her forehead.

* * *

**September 24, 1991.**

Ginny blinked awake. Her everything was sluggish as she fought off the aftereffects of the sleeping potion. She sat up and flexed her hand experimentally. Not broken.

Birds chirped in the morning sun outside the window. Had it been a full day, or only hours?

She let out a slow, measured breath. So the dream had held more truths than she cared for. Her mum knew, at least, that she had broken her wrist. The strange thing about parents, though, was that they weren't always confrontational straight away. Molly Weasley was the type to make sure her children were okay before she doled out punishments.

That would not do. There wasn't time to deal with silly things such as punishments when the fate of the wizarding world was at stake. Ginny needed a plan.

The first, and most obvious choice, would be to lie through her teeth. Unfortunately, Molly Weasley was used to dealing with Fred and George, so that would likely not work particularly well.

What then? Ginny wondered. Some kind of charm? It would be nice but Ginny did not have a wand. She could hope for a chance to nick a wand and use any number of spells. Forgetfullness charms, obliviation, and confundus charms were all possibilities. The problem with that approach, was that there was no guarantee.

If there was one positive to accidentally drinking yourself into a broken wrist at the age of ten years old, it was that Ginny had been visited by the memory of her lover. It was the most pleasant dream she'd had since she'd opened the Chamber of Secrets in her first year. And it was a welcome reprieve from the endless litany of nightmares that plagued her.

Ginny reflected that she really needed about a thousand more doses of whatever potion her mother had given her.

But she likely wouldn't have the chance. It was time to face the music.

She dressed with resignation and headed down the stairs. The trepidation she felt was silly. Ginny was nervous about being punished by her mother, the same way she used to be. It was all ridiculous, really. But Ginny did not want to see her father's disappointment, or face her mother's anger.

It was necessary, Ginny told herself. She had to overcome herself first if she wanted to help Harry have a chance in hell at this war. Or if she wanted Luna to have some confidence at school. Or if she wanted her brothers to live.

Downstairs, Molly and Arthur were sitting at the table in silence.

Ginny sat at an empty seat between them.

There was a very, very, long silence.

Ginny grew tired of it long before her parents found the words to express their displeasure. "So…" Ginny said. "I messed up."

It was as if a dam had been broken.

"What were you thinking?" Molly started. "I expect foolishness and rule breaking from the boys, but from you? I never. You've been have trouble since your brothers left, I know, but this is inexcusable. Stealing from your father's liquor cabinet? Drinking underage? Flying? Ginny, this behavior is not acceptable! You told me just the other day how much you wanted to be better than your brothers. Quidditch Captain, Prefect, Head Girl, remember?"

Ginny ducked her head in shame, her cheeks flaring. This was going about as well as one could expect, given the circumstances. It was best to let her mum shout herself out before speaking again. Then she could have a real conversation about steps forward with her father.

Twenty minutes later, when Molly had shouted herself hoarse, and moved off to calm her rage by fixing tea for them.

Ginny looked at her father, cheeks still flush with shame and embarrassment. "Can we talk about actual punishment now?"

Arthur studied her for a long moment. "No."

Ginny sighed. Another lecture, then.

"First, I want to know why you did it. Then we can talk about punishments." Ginny looked at her father, eyes wide. He never ceased to impress her. And it was almost, almost impossible to make him angry. She'd never personally managed it, herself.

Ginny licked her lips. Swallowed. Cleared her throat.

"I haven't been sleeping since everyone left for school," Ginny said. Technically the truth, but the departure of her brothers was not the reason.

Arthur nodded. So he'd known, too.

"I keep having bad dreams," Ginny said quietly. How best to explain them to someone who could never know? "Dreams about being alone."

"And so you decided to sneak into my liquor cabinet and help yourself?" Arthur asked sternly.

Ginny took a moment to phrase her explanation. "The boys sometimes sneak some, and they always seemed really relaxed after. I thought it would… help." There were more half truths there than anything. Some of her brothers had, on occasion, partaken, and it was true that she thought drinking helped her sleep. Mostly because it did. It calmed her nerves more than anything else.

"Why did you think it would help you more than coming to us?" Arthur asked.

"I was..." Ginny started. Ashamed? She couldn't exactly say that. There was no shame in a ten year old having bad dreams. But there was some shame in her burying her problems in alcohol. Shame she had been acutely aware of since she'd started drinking at the end of the future-war.

Ginny swallowed. "I was embarrassed."

"You were embarrassed?" Arthur clarified.

Ginny nodded, doing her best to look straight through the table.

"Well there's nothing to be embarrassed about. Just some bad dreams, Ginny. How long have you been having sleeping problems? Has it really just been since the boys left?"

Ginny nearly answered that question as if she were in her older body, but she caught herself. "Since everyone went to school," Ginny affirmed.

"And the broomstick?" Arthur asked.

"I, er, wanted to give flying a go, and it seemed like a good idea at the time."

Arthur sighed, and rubbed his eyes and face tiredly. "Ginny, what you did was wrong, very wrong. It's wrong to steal, and illegal to drink under age."

"I know," Ginny said. "I'm sorry."

Well, she was sorry she'd been found out.

"I trust it won't happen again," Arthur said.

Ginny nodded at once. "It won't." And it wouldn't. Well, if it did, she definitely would not get caught.

Molly came back with three cups of tea, and Ginny noted that her expression was one usually reserved for Fred and George. She remembered seeing it frequently growing up, though she was almost certain it had never been directed at her before.

Ginny wilted in her seat.

"We'll have to discuss proper punishment," Arthur said to both Molly and Ginny. "But for now, I am glad that nothing more came of this than a broken bone and a lesson learned."

Molly tutted in disagreement. She was still upset, clearly, but the first stage to her mother's distress was often anger. Ginny thought she might make the best of a bad situation.

"Mum, I was telling dad that I took the, er, fire whiskey to see if it would help me sleep," Ginny said.

Molly said nothing. Ginny almost winced.

"Well I was wondering if you had any more of that sleeping potion. I haven't slept that well since before the boys left for school." Ginny tried her best to sound ten years old. She didn't think it worked very well.

Molly gave her a very long, serious look. And then her mother's instincts won out. "Of course we do, Ginny dear. And we can get you a few to help you sleep when you need them." She took a deep breath, her voice growing thick with emotion. "I just wish you'd come to us instead of rule-breaking. You could have seriously been hurt."

Ginny smiled at her mother. It felt wonderful to know that she was loved, but it did nothing to assuage the heaviness of her heart. There was nothing she could get up to in this house that could hurt her more than she already had been. Ginny had been through a war, she'd fought against dark creatures and dark magic that most people could not conceive of in their nightmares.

"I'm sorry, mum," Ginny said eventually.

As it turned out, Ginny's punishment was rather mild. Though her parents stressed to her the dangers of drinking, and of flying under the influence, she was let off with little more than several stern talkings-to and an extra pile of chores that was to be completed every day.

Her Harry had been right. She had help if she needed it. She had help even if she could not tell any truths.

What they did not take from her, was permission to visit Luna, or her permission to try to make pocket money in the muggle parts of Ottery St. Catchpole.

Ginny did her chores quickly and without complaint before heading to Luna's house for the day.

Luna was in the kitchen, sitting at the table, and idly picking at an old loaf of bread. When Ginny entered the kitchen, she smiled. "Hello Ginny."

"Luna, it's good to see you. Feeling a bit better today?" Ginny asked.

Luna nodded. "It's nice to have someplace clean to sit."

"I believe you," Ginny said. "What do you want to do today?"

"Will you come with me to the muggle part of town? Daddy left some money out for groceries, but I don't want to go by myself. And Daddy is in bed again today."

Ginny smiled and gave Luna a gently squeeze on the shoulder. "Of course I will. Is there a list for your shopping?"

Luna's eyes widened, and she shook her head. "No."

Ginny fetched a quill and a piece of parchment, and sat with Luna at the table. "Let's make one then," Ginny said, writing down the essentials. "What things do you like?"

Over the next ten minutes, Ginny put together a muggle shopping list with Luna. Any magical grocery shopping would have to wait until Xenophilius felt up to it. Their walk into town was nice, and Ginny let Luna's childlike wonder for all things fantastical lead them to their destination.

They talked about some of the stranger things that were in the newest edition of _The Quibbler_. Ginny loved hearing Luna talk about it with so much passion. She also had the good grace to feel the familiar tug of shame in her stomach. The first time she'd been ten years old, she'd laughed at Luna, ridiculed her outlandish beliefs, and pushed her away.

Luna had been alone in part because of her.

And worst of all, Ginny had been forgiven without hesitation.

Ginny was determined to be there no matter what. She had a second chance to be there for the people who needed her most. To be there for those she loved.

"What did you want to ask me about the other day?" Luna asked when they were on their way back from the grocers.

"What? Oh! I got permission from my mum to earn some pocket money. I was going to go into the muggle parts of town and see about doing some yard work. Mum said I couldn't go alone, so I came to ask you if you wanted to come. We'd split any payment halfway, of course." Ginny said.

"Do you need money for something?" Luna asked.

Ginny nodded. "I want a wand for school next year. Mum has one of her parents old wands set aside for me, but I wanted to get one of my own."

"I don't have a wand yet either," Luna said. "Daddy won't take me to Diagon Alley for one until I get my letter."

Ginny smiled at her friend. "But you are getting one."

"I am getting one," Luna agreed. "But I'd be happy to help you. It's nice to spend time with a friend."

"It is, isn't it?"

* * *

**July 25th, 1998. A dream.**

Ginny and Ron sat, gasping for breath, in a large field of overgrown vegetation. It had once been a farm belonging to the Parkinsons, but it had not served its intended purpose since Voldemort had risen again. It was now a base of operations for the Death Eaters.

Which wasn't a big deal, really. She and Ron had successfully infiltrated the base, and collected what they'd come for. A prototype port key that Voldemort himself had made. Harry, who was away on another mission for the Order, had been the one to provide them with the information. Now, she, and her brothers Ron and Charlie, were on a mission to get the port key away from the Death Eaters before they could use it to enter Hogwarts grounds.

Whatever magic could bypass the wards of Hogwarts, Ginny did not want to know. Once she'd caught he breath, she sprung to her feet and waited.

Charlie returned less than a minute later. "Apparition point is set and secured," Charlie said.

"Right," Said Ron. "Let's get going, then. The sooner we get this port key back to headquarters, the better."

Ginny nodded. Letting Hermione, Flitwick, Harry, and the rest have a look at it would be invaluable. "How far is the extraction point?" Ginny asked.

Charlie gestured behind him. "Three hundred meters that way, outside of the estate's wards, and just within the treeline there."

"Let's get moving," said Ron.

Ginny adjusted her grip on the bag that contained the old broken mirror (now portkey), and they headed off.

Something shimmered in the air before them, and Ginny saw the wards glimmer.

"Damn! They've found out we took it. I thought for sure we would clear the wards before they locked it all down," Charlie said.

"What do we do?" Ginny asked, wand out.

"We need to break the ward line here," Charlie said. "But that's Bill's area, not mine. It will take time."

"Then we will buy you time," Ron said. He cast his gaze about. "Ginny, most of these plants haven't been watered in over a fortnight. It hasn't rained and nobody is maintaining the grounds. Let's slow down any approach by lighting the entire field on fire."

That'd work.

"You got it, brother mine," Ginny said. "Let's start fires at different points?"

"Yes. I'll head northeast, you go southwest, and we'll meet back here in two minutes," Ron said. "Charlie, can you get us a hole in that time?"

"Should be able to," Charlie said.

"Then let's move!" Ron said.

Ginny tore off, casting a disillusionment charm on herself as she went. When she judged herself far enough away from Charlie's location, she cast an Incendio on the wilting crops, and turned to the wards in her area. Best to draw them away from Charlie. She turned to the barrier and let her spells loose. Ginny fired a reductor curse, red sparks, a blasting hex, green sparks, and another reductor curse. None of the spells would get through, but the light show, and hitting the barrier would pull anyone looking for intruders her way.

Not wanting to say any longer than absolutely necessary, Ginny ran.

She returned to find Charlie and Ron in a heated argument.

"What's going on?" Ginny asked, breathlessly.

"Charlie's being an idiot," Ron said.

"I'm not. There isn't time to do this your way, little brother, and for that I am sorry," Charlie said.

"What do you mean Ron's way? What's wrong?" Ginny asked.

"The wards are too complicated to make a proper hole," Charlie explained. "I can hold them open for you to walk through, but I can't hold the spell and exit the wards at the same time."

"Which is why you should let us make you a door once we get to the other side!" Ron shouted.

"The Death Eaters will be here before you have time to work it out, Ronald. I know the spell and I can barely do it properly. Neither of you do. We have minutes, not hours," Charlie smiled at them. "Get the port key out of here, and be quick about it."

Ginny shook her head. "No," she said.

"I am sorry, Ginny, but there's not another way."

Ron screamed in frustration. Around them the fire approached, a sweltering reminder of their short time.

"I love you," Ginny said, and the tears fell.

"I love you too, Ginny. And you, Ron," Charlie said. "Now go!"

Ginny stepped through the hole in the barrier, Ron followed suit. She turned to see Charlie give them a last smile, before he lifted his wand, and the hole in the wards shimmered for a moment before it closed.

Charlie turned his back to them when the Death Eaters arrived, and Ginny found herself dragging Ron away from the fight. But she saw five Death Eaters fall before Charlie did. Her brother was amazing like that.

* * *

**September 25, 1991.**

Ginny woke in a cold sweat, breathing shallow and rapid. So much for going even one day without a nightmare. She sat up, pushing her hair away from her face, and turned to glower at the small vials of sleeping potion on her desk. It would be no good to take one now, the pre-dawn light was already starting to spill into her room.

With a defeated sigh, Ginny slid from her bed, and slumped into her chair, fumbling idly for the magical lamp. It flickered to life when she touched it, and Ginny leaned back. Her hands were shaking worse than normal, but she had promised both her parents and the strange Dream-Harry that she would do better. She could go one day without. Just one day. Instead, she dutifully took up her liberated copy of _One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi_, and continued her reading and note taking.

It was an arduous process. And she bemoaned the lack of any sort of magic or charmed object to make the process faster.

After an hour or so, her mind drifted from the task at hand, and she found herself watching the sky change colors as the sun rose.

If she was entirely honest with herself. Coming back in time had been miserable. She was facing demons that were long buried, and the pain opening old wounds caused was very intense. But she had the opportunuty to be a better person. And she wasn't doing it for her. She was doing it for her mum and dad, for her brothers, and Luna, and Harry. She just hoped that it became less miserable when she was allowed to have her magic back again. And when she could be with her brothers and her friends and Harry at school.

For now, though, she lived in the purgatory of absorbing information in the most Hermione-like fashion she could. Well that and suffering through nightmares where she watched people she loved die every night. And working out a way to help Luna.

She fell asleep with the book open on her lap, head leaning against the back of the chair, and her feet on her mattress.

When she came to, she had a terrible crick in her neck, and it was nearly ten o'clock in the morning. She tossed the book back onto the desk, and tried to work out the stiffness to little avail. Giving it up as a bad job, Ginny dressed for the day, and headed downstairs for a late breakfast.

"Good morning Ginny," Arthur said with a smile.

Ginny looked at her father, surprised. "Good morning, dad. Shouldn't you be at work?"

Arthur nodded from his seat at the table, and motioned for her to join him. She did. "I arranged to head in a little later than normal today. I wanted to check up on you when you woke up." He leaned towards her conspiratorially. "Feeling any better? A couple of nights rest usually do me good."

"I didn't sleep well last night," Ginny said. "I wanted to see if I still had a bad dream." It was kind of true. But the reality of the situation was that Ginny was rationing her little talks with Harry. And there was a part of her that was terrified she'd never see him again. So the potions sat unused on her desk.

"Well be sure to eat a nice, healthy breakfast, and get some rest today if you can," Arthur said. He folded his newspaper as he rose, and tossed it down beside his empty plate. "Your mother has prepared a lovely breakfast for you."

"I'll try, Dad," Ginny said quietly.

And just like that, he was off for work.

Molly bustled to the table from the kitchen next, and set a large plate before her. "There you are, dear. Tuck in."

Ginny nodded, and ate quickly. It seemed that her one recorded night of drinking was already in the past. Ginny wondered if she could keep it there as well. If the potions didn't help, or if Harry wasn't with her at night when she took them… well she wasn't sure what she'd do.

She had little time to dwell on it, however.

Not five minutes later, Hedwig arrived, carrying a thick bundle of parchment. The owl circled the dining table once before landing in front of Ginny, and offering the thick bundle to her. It was a parcel, wrapped in a thin cord, and she could clearly see her name neatly scrawled across the front.

"Who's it from, dear?" Molly asked.

"I don't know, mum," Ginny said. "But it's the same owl that delivered that letter from Ron earlier this year." Ginny took the parcel, and offered Hedwig a piece of bacon off of her plate. The owl took it graciously, hooted once, and then flew up to join Errol on the perch across the room.

Ginny unwrapped the parcel, and saw a small stack of letters contained within. Responses to her message from Percy, Fred and George, Ron, and even one from Harry.

"They're letters from my brothers!" Ginny exclaimed, not needing to hide her excitement. Reading and replying to these letters would be a welcome reprieve from the monotony of study, from her extra chores, the stress of nightmares, and from being an older sister to Luna.

"That is lovely, dear," Molly said. "Be sure to write them back soon."

"I will, mum," Ginny said. She finished her breakfast and took the letters up to her room to read.

Percy had written a letter that was close in length to a small book, going over first year curriculum, wand work, additional reading, and study tips. He'd even included a copy of a study schedule 'as an example.' Ginny found the entire thing helpful only because it would provide her a decent cover story if her rigorous note taking was ever discovered. And she _did_ appreciate it. It was just…

She wasn't a child. These were all things that she knew. But Percy didn't know that, and it was clear from his letter that he was ecstatic that she would be taking her studies seriously. Ginny imagined her brother excitedly scribbling onto a roll of parchment as he tried to include everything about the first year curriculum. She smiled.

Fred and George's letter regaled her with stories of their misadventures at Hogwarts, provided a running commentary on several of the teachers, and included some sort of coordinates to her long sought prize, which Ginny could only assume was the toilet seat she'd requested. Smart of them to not actually send the toilet seat home. But she actually didn't know where it was located. The clues were vague enough that she'd actually have to explore the castle to find it. No doubt that was the end goal anyway. Fred and George prided themselves on their knowledge of Hogwarts and its secrets. They were sharing with her, which was very sweet of them.

Ron's was short, which was typical of her youngest brother, but she appreciated it all the same. Ron told her that he appreciated her correspondence, and told her about a mirror that he and Harry had discovered. It sounded interesting, a mirror that reflected you as you wished to be. Ginny wondered what she might see if she peered into such an artifact.

She wouldn't like it. Whatever idyllic dream the mirror would conjure for her was impossible. She'd been dragged away from her wallowing and forced to confront the horrors of the world once again, armed with nothing but her mind. Ginny missed her wand. She would definitely feel more prepared for the future if she had it.

Ginny had saved Harry's letter for last, afraid of what it might contain. Would he tell her that he wasn't interested in corresponding? Would it be about how he didn't have time for the little sister's of his friends?

In her first few years at Hogwarts, Ginny had painted such a strange image of Harry, that when she did finally get to know him, he always surprised her with his modesty, and genuine kindness. That wasn't to say he had always been like that. She suspected Harry was as incorruptible as she remembered, but she didn't know for certain.

And what made this letter even more daunting, was the simple fact that these were the first words her Harry had ever written _for her_. In this life, at least.

Ginny took a breath, and opened the letter with shaking hands.

She needn't have worried. Harry was Harry, and she loved him for it. His letter was one of appreciation and genuine curiosity. He asked about the daily lives of wizards and witches in their homes, and explained in detail the muggle versions of what he asked about. He drew from his experience and his classes, and Ginny was impressed.

Harry Potter was a smart man, she knew, but he'd never been particularly studious when she'd known him. This letter was very well put together, and something that Hermione may have written, not Harry. Had he lost his study habits over the years, or was this some difference she had caused? Or, Ginny wondered, was this something else entirely.? Was this the past, or some alternative to her own timeline?

The letter Harry sent her brought up more questions than it answered, but Ginny would answer his. She'd get to know him through post, and when Ron and the twins brought Harry home to her next summer, she'd hug him.

The thought invigorated her.

Not time, not distance, not death itself could prevent her from loving him.

Ginny placed the letters on her desk, fetched her parchment, ink, and quill, and set to work replying to her letters as fast as she could.

* * *

Author's Note 8: If you are still with me after all this time, just know that I really do appreciate your support. Leaving a review, or following/favoriting the story goes a really long way. I'd love it if everyone would do just that, so that more people might give this story a chance.

Expect another update sometime next week. But be aware that The Thousand Mile Journey will probably update first.

Cheers!


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